Rebound (Boomerang #2)(36)

Besides, who am I to judge? We’re both hiding from something in our past. We just cope differently. Grey kicks and thrashes. He rebels and self-sabotages. His struggle is unrestrained. It lacks discipline. That’s not me. I lock shit down and build. I achieve. The harder it is for me on the Chloe-front, the more money I make.

We watch Lucky launch into the waves over and over, retrieving the tennis ball. Grey puts away two beers before I finish my first. It’s when he cracks open a third one in less than ten minutes that I have to say something.

“Something up, Grey?”

His eyes flick to me, then back to the ocean. I wonder if it’s the singing. He hasn’t mentioned it since last Sunday morning in the kitchen.

“Your mother called me today,” he says.

For fifteen years, she was his mother, too. At least in practice. This “your mother” thing happened when he left home.

“Did you talk to her?” I ask.

“Why would I want to do that, Adam? So she can feed me more bullshit about how much she loves me?” He shakes his head and takes another long sip. “No way.”

“She’s trying, Grey. If she called, then she’s trying.”

“Out of guilt. For Dad.”

I don’t reply, because guilt can be a powerful motivator. On the right person, guilt gets things done. I’ve built an entire company on it.

I feel Grey look at me, like he’s following my thoughts and is about to mention Chloe, but thankfully the doorbell rings.

Rhett, Ethan, and Ethan’s buddy Jason come in. Brooks arrives right on their heels. We do the introduction thing for Jason’s sake. He’s the only new recruit to the game, since Paolo cycled out in favor of samba night.

We grab drinks, Rhett puts out snacks, and eventually we sit down. I deal, and we play a few hands, the money moving around the table.

My favorite part of playing, besides winning, is observing how they each play according to their personalities. Ethan is straight out there, strategic but not a big one for bluffing. Jason’s a little more canny, analyzing the other players’ moves, making calculated bets. Rhett thinks every hand is the best hand. Brooks has an endless supply of funny stories about actors and location shoots, but he’s a multitasker. He can entertain and stay competitive. And Grey plays like his head’s on fire, jumping up from the table every couple of deals, acting like he’s bluffing when he’s got a straight flush, just generally being a train wreck and taking everyone else with him.

With Ethan right across the table, the mystery of him and Alison is alive and kicking in my mind. What happened? Graham wouldn’t have given Alison that look if they’d just grown apart. I remember Ali talking about mistakes on Halloween night and wonder if she meant Ethan.

I force myself to make what’s now become a familiar mental adjustment—steering my thoughts away from Alison—but I can’t pass up the opportunity to learn more about my future investor and partner.

“What can you tell me about Graham Quick?” I ask Ethan.

Jason almost chokes on his beer. “Shit. There’s a question.”

“Meaning?” I look at Ethan.

He shrugs. “Graham defies description in a lot of ways.”

That’s nowhere near enough for me. “But you knew him fairly well. You dated his daughter for how long?”

Ethan shifts uncomfortably, sending Jason a look. “About two years.”

“Hey.” Grey spreads his hands. “We’re playing poker here.”

I’m not trying to be a jerk. It’s just that this man wants to own a large share of my company in exchange for a large amount of capital, and his daughter’s installed in my ranks. I’ve done all I can on paper, but I can’t miss this chance at a deeper view.

“No, it’s okay.” Ethan shuffles the cards, his face a little grim. “I mean, you’ve seen for yourself,” he says. “Graham’s got a big personality. Kind of a steamroller. Lots of jokes and smiles, glad-handing, big tipper. When he likes you, he’s all in—trips, expensive restaurants, tickets to games. I haven’t been on the other end, but I imagine it’s ugly.”

Which is what I’d already figured.

“What else?”

Ethan picks up his cards. “After Alison and I ended, he kept in touch for a while. Email. Phone calls. He sent me Lakers tickets for my birthday. Box seats.”

Interesting that he said “ended.”

“You said he liked you, right? You’d become a part of his family.”

He nods. “I thought that too. And then I thought maybe he was trying to get me back for his daughter. To make her happy.”

So Ethan left. And she didn’t want him to. This development only creates more questions for me.

I look at my hand, carve off two cards and toss them to him. “But you don’t think so?”

“I’m sure that was part of it,” he says, handing me two back. “But it felt too determined. And kind of impersonal. Like he needed me to fill the son-shaped slot in his life. It felt like I could have been anyone.” Ethan nods to himself. “Yeah. Something like that. I mean, he got to know all about me. Brought me on skiing trips and bought me a custom set of golf clubs. He’d always show up with something. Sports bios. Stuff he knew I’d like. So, it was personal to that degree. It just felt—”